


Hurt.

by GameandWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, Knifeplay, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameandWolf/pseuds/GameandWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim loves to see Sebastian hurt, but only by his hand. When Sebastian comes back from a job with any injury, Jim is furious and hurts him even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme Prompt: Moriarty loves to see Moran hurt, but only by his hand. When Moran comes back from a job with any injury, Moriarty is furious and hurts him worse  
> http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15253.html?thread=81598613#t81598613

When Sebastian stumbles back into the flat, his first instinct is to automatically head for the bathroom. Find anti-septic, a needle and thread, and a bandage. The wound isn’t terrible, he’s both given and received non-fatal wounds that are more severe than this one. It’s a knife wound, low and to one side of his abdomen, deep but no vital organs punctures, simple enough for him, with years of experience in patching himself up, to take care of it.  
  
His fingers are pressed over the wound, blood oozing in between them as he fumbles about in the cabinet for the supplies. He should really be better about carrying them with him when he goes out on a job, but this one should have been a clean in and out. Hiccups happen in plans, however, and this hiccup knifed him. Sebastian isn’t one to let things go and that little hiccup is now resting peacefully at the bottom of the Thames with his throat slit and a small ‘S’ carved over his sternum like a signature.  
  
He glances at the clock on the countertop as he draws the surgical thread through his skin, effectively closing the gash. Jim will be back soon and he needs to have this cleaned up before that happens. Jim doesn’t like it when he comes home injured. He says it’s because he doesn’t like it when Sebastian gets hurt, but the assassin suspects it’s really the idea of a plan not going perfectly that bothers him.  
  
He ties off the last stitch and cuts the thread before slapping a piece of gauze over it and securing it down with surgical tape. It will take a few days to heal which means that, unless he wants Jim to find out about it, he’ll have to stay out of his boss’s bed for a few days.  
  
That’s a downside for a number of reasons. First of all, he’ll have to come up with a reason for turning down the other man because he just doesn’t do that on a regular basis. Second of all, despite what his better judgment suggests, he’s rather attached to the strange little man that he works for and he rather likes sleeping next to him. Probably stupid given what they both do for a living but at least he’s not attached to someone who opposes his rather morally ambiguous habits.  
  
Sebastian tidies up the first aid kit and places it neatly back into the cabinet. He wipes down the counter to clear off any visible traces of blood and packs his damaged shirt away with the rest of the clothes he needs to have burned, the ones also stained with blood, though not his own. He pulls on a clean shirt and heads back to the bathroom for a final sweep to make sure he removed all the evidence of his impromptu self-surgery.  
  
Some half an hour later, Jim bounces into the flat, filled with an indecent amount of energy for a man his age. Sebastian is seated on the couch, reading the newspaper when Jim throws himself into the man’s lap and kisses him hard, fast and dirty before he’s up again and bouncing out of the living room, stripping off his suit as he goes.  
  
He audibly rummages around in his room, likely changing into more comfortable clothing for when he inevitably drapes himself across the couch to watch trashy television. Sebastian can hear him move into the bathroom and mentally steels himself, hoping that Jim won’t notice anything amiss.  
  
“Seb, what’s this?” Jim calls from the bathroom.  
  
 _Damn._  
  
He doesn’t look up from his paper, “What’s what?”  
  
Jim emerges from the hall, bare chested, wearing only a pair of dark pajama pants and holding something between his forefinger and thumb, “This.”  
  
Sebastian glances up from his paper, “No idea.”  
  
“Looks like thread to me.”  
  
“One of your shirts fraying, then? All this talk of your fancy suits and even they can’t escape the inevitable,” Sebastian smirks.  
  
“It’s surgical thread.”  
  
 _Double damn._  
  
Sebastian watches the other man for a moment before shrugging and going back to his paper, “Where’d it come from?”  
  
“The bathroom. You wouldn’t happen to know why it was in there, would you now?”  
  
“Wouldn’t have asked if I did.”  
  
“I know when you’re lying to me, Sebastian.”  
  
 _Full name. He’s not happy_ He folds up his paper and sets it on the arm of the sofa, “I’m not lying. I don’t know why it’s there.” _Because I’m generally much better at cleaning up, how the_ fuck _did I miss that?_  
  
Jim stares at him for what feels like an impossibly long moment, “Strip.”  
  
“…excuse me?”  
  
“What’s the phrase…ah, I don’t believe I stuttered. Stand up. And strip.”  
  
“You are _not_ serious.” _Fuck, he’s serious._  
  
He moves to stand directly in front of Sebastian, “Deathly.”  
  
Sebastian tries to hold his ground for as long as possible, but Jim’s glare is hard and cold and he eventually gives in, pulling himself to his feet, completely in Jim’s personal space, barely a hair’s breadth between them. He glares down his nose at Jim and unfastens his belt with rough, jerky movements, silently conveying his displeasure to his boss. He tosses the belt onto the couch behind him and shoves his trousers and pants down, kicking them away.  
  
Jim glances down and can’t stop the appreciative smirk from sliding over his face, even knowing that it’s just going to make Seb even more displeased. He lifts his face to meet the man’s eyes again, “And your shirt.”  
  
Sebastian bites down hard on the tip of his tongue before reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head, tossing it to join the rest of his clothes.  
  
Jim’s fingers brush over the now exposed bandage, “And what’s this, then?”  
  
He deliberately avoids Jim’s eyes, “Just a scratch.” He jerks hard and bites back a groan as Jim’s quick fingers grab the edge of the surgical tape and rip the entire covering off. Jim drops the bandage to the ground and traces along the edges of the stitches with his fingers.  
  
“Looks a bit more serious than a scratch to me,” His gaze flicks up briefly to Sebastian’s faze again before he presses down hard on the gash with his thumb, digging in hard enough for bursts of red to leak around the edges of the threads.  
  
The taller man can’t stop the groan from escaping his mouth this time. He knows Jim is angry with him and that this is supposed to be punishment but _fuck_ he loves the way that Jim hurts him.  
  
Jim’s thumb digs deep into the wound, pressing against the stitches and forcing the barely healed skin apart. He makes a vaguely thoughtful noise and lifts his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean with slow deliberate movements, “You’re not supposed to get hurt.”  
  
Sebastian doesn’t respond. He knows he’s not supposed to and anything he says will just make Jim even angrier at him. He continues to stare straight ahead, looking over Jim’s shoulder at the wall behind him, not daring to look him in the eyes and see that _look_ , the one so angry, so frightening, so _disappointed_. The one that makes him want to do anything his employer asks of him. He’d probably throw himself off of a cliff if Jim asked him to while giving him _that_ look.  
  
Jim is turning away from him now and heading to the bedroom, “Come.” It’s not a request, it’s a demand that he knows Sebastian will follow. He doesn’t even glance back to make sure he’s obeyed. Sebastian touches the gouge on his side gingerly, fingers coming away damp with blood. His brow furrows as he thinks that he’ll have to re-stitch it later, even though that should probably be the least of his worries.  
  
He leaves his clothes sitting pitifully in a rumpled pile on the floor and pads into the bedroom. His eyes flit around the room, finding Jim sitting in the chair in the corner, one leg crossed over the other. He has one elbow propped on his knee and his chin is resting in his hand, his expression carries a tone of both utter boredom and impatience, “On your knees.”  
  
“On the floor or on the bed?” Sebastian isn’t supposed to talk and he _knows_ that, but that’s the point. It will make Jim just a little bit angrier, make him hurt him just a little bit harder.  
  
His expectations come true as Jim is up and out of the chair in a split second, mood quickly swinging from bored impatience to dangerously violent and Sebastian’s head is twisted roughly to one side as Jim’s palm makes forceful contact with his cheek. Sebastian smirks to himself and runs his tongue over his teeth, testing to see if his teeth rattled enough to bleed. He gives in, he’ll always give in, and drops down to his knees in front of his boss, looking up at him through his eye lashes with a look of feigned innocence. They both know he hasn’t been anything close to innocent in years.  
  
Jim grips Sebastian’s chin tightly between his fingers and angles his face upward towards him, his grip tight enough to threaten bruises, “Better. I’ll have you properly trained yet.” His fingers release Sebastian and he slowly circles around behind the man, fingers dragging a trail down his jaw, his neck, along his shoulder and over his back.  
  
His fingers are quick and violent and twist roughly into Sebastian’s hair, yanking him backwards, forcing his head back. Jim’s lips are at his neck, mouthing against the strained muscles, hissing out his displease, “You. Are. Mine. And _no one_ is allowed to hurt you except for me. And I think you need to be reminded of what I can do to you.”  
  
Sebastian is thrown forward without warning and he barely manages to catch himself before his face smashes into the ground.  
  
“Stay down,” Jim’s voice has taken on that all too familiar tone, the one that suggests you follow his orders but threatens a slit throat if you don’t. He stays down and stares straight ahead. He wants badly to turn and see that Jim is doing behind him, but know that it’s against the rules of this game. He can hear the slight creak of the floor as Jim moves around but he has no idea what’s going on. Jim constantly moves his toys and his weapons – the same thing to him, really- around the room on a regular basis so he can’t even guess what’s coming based on that.  
  
He is starting to relax, wondering if maybe his punishment is to stay here on the hard floor when the first painful strike of the riding crop comes down across his back. He gasps sharply in pain. Jim doesn’t try to avoid leaving marks, doesn’t start with any sort of prep, doesn’t aim for the soft, fleshy areas. He wants his mark visible and he aims for where it hurts, along the shoulders, at his hips, deliberate strikes across old battle scars that make Sebastian’s breath hitch and his cock harden.  
  
The crop is coming down in a firestorm of hits, barely giving him the time to gasp between each strike. Jim’s rage is pouring out of him and through the tip of the leather, leaving a myriad of bright red marks staining his back.  


The first volley stops and he can hear Jim panting for air. The tip of the leather is pressed to the back of his neck and Sebastian leans his head forward, pressing it against the floor.  
  
“Why,” Jim asks, dragging the tip slowly down the length of Sebastian’s spine, “do you make me do this to you?” The leather trails across the back of one of his thighs. “Why do you let other people hurt you?” Jim lifts the crop away entirely, “Answer me.”  
  
Sebastian takes several slow deep breaths, trying to pull his focus back enough to respond coherently, “I…I don’t.”  
  
The crop bites sharply into his left shoulder and Jim snarls, " _Liar_! You’re not allowed to be hurt and you..” A sharp strike across his right shoulder, “let someone,” His left hip, “hurt you.” The center of his back. Sebastian can feel his skin threatening to split in several places and he shifts almost imperceptibly but is halted by the touch of the whip against the side of his neck.  
  
“Roll over. Flat on your back.”  
  
He does as he’s told, and tilts his head up as the leather drags along his jaw line. He shifts his head slightly and presses against it, like a cat nudging the hand of his master. Jim steps forward, plating one foot in the center of Sebastian’s chest, making it difficult, but not impossible to breathe.  
  
“Now. Answer me,” He gently taps Sebastian’s cheek, “And tell the truth this time, honey.” His voice drips with a sickly sweet tone. Appealing to the dark look in Jim’s eyes, Sebastian turns his head just enough to run his tongue along the flat of the crop before replying.  
  
“I told you, I didn’t,” His head is forced to one side, gasping as his cheek explodes in pain; he can already feel the welt rising from the strike. Jim’s heel digs harder into his sternum and his gaze flicks over Sebastian’s body with a cold, calculating look before he pulls back.  
  
“Get up. I want you on the bed.”

Sebastian winces as he rises, battered skin protesting against the movement. He slips onto the bed and takes up the same position he’d started in. Hands and knees, head bowed down in submission. He feels the bed dip slightly behind him and warmth of Jim’s body is suddenly solid against his back.

He’s still wearing his pyjama pants, Sebastian can feel the material, rough against his back side, but Jim’s bare chest is skin to skin with his back and Sebastian can’t stop himself from arching up against him, reveling in the contact. Jim’s hands brush over his shoulders, down his biceps, his forearms and down to grip his wrists tightly.

Without a word, he pulls Sebastian’s wrists up and guides them to the headboard, holding them in place there for a moment before releasing them. Sebastian understands that perfectly clearly. He keeps his grip tight and forces himself not to whine when the heat of Jim against his back disappears. It’s back a moment later, but so is the cold bite of steel handcuffs locking around his wrists and fixing him to the headboard.

“I’ve half a mind to leave you like this,” Jim says, and how does he manage to sound so _bored_ and so _aroused_ at the same time? “Locked up where I can see you. Like an animal. Like a _pet_ ,” He’s rolling his hips slightly, grinding his hard on against Sebastian’s arse and mouthing against his ear, “You’d look very pretty in a collar, dear.”

Sebastian gasps loudly and pushes back, twisting his head to try and catch Jim’s mouth with his, but he’s only met with his head being shoved back down.

“Your master doesn’t like it when his pet misbehaves.”

“Sorry, sir.” He breathes out but Jim doesn’t reply to him.

There’s a soft click behind him, the sound of a tube of lube being opened and Jim’s finger is pressing against him; the slick digit slipping easily past the ring of muscle.

“You’re so well-trained at everything else,” Jim twists his finger slowly and puts his free hand on Sebastian’s hip as a warning when Sebastian tries to rock back, “You do everything I ask of you so well; you’re so good at bending to me, doing as I want, when I want it. And you aren’t nearly as boring as most other people.” He moves his finger slowly, drawing out the lazy, teasing movements and ignores the way Sebastian’s whimpering from the back of his throat.

“So why  is it that you can’t learn _this_?” He forces two more fingers into Sebastian without warning, twisting them roughly. The movement tears a cry from Sebastian, a twisted mix of shock, pain, and _please god, more_. 

“That this,” Jim continues as his fingers pump in and out of the other man, “is only for me?”

Sebastian is shaking his head, gasping for air as he struggles to form words, “I didn- I don- it’s for you. Only you. _fuck,_ only ever you.”

“Good boy,” Jim purrs, letting his hand stroke down Sebastian’s spine, “I think we need a way to remind you of that when you’re out.” He pulls his fingers free from Sebastian’s body and reaches up to undo one of the cuffs.

“On your back now, let me see you.”

Sebastian maneuvers himself over, his right arm still fastened into place. Once he’s done, Jim locks his left arm back into place and settles himself across the older man’s hips, surveying his chest with a critical eye.

“Here,” He says, and taps his forefinger against the hollow of Sebastian’s neck. “would be the perfect place. But too obvious I think. You’d only be able to wear turtle necks,” His fingers dance down Sebastian’s chest, tracing over scars, analyzing the skin, “Your sternum, maybe?” He brushes his fingers over the reddish brown hair dusted across his chest, “I think the hair right there might cover it up too much. How about…” His fingers slide to lightly pinch one nipple briefly before moving slightly higher, “Over your heart. That feels appropriate,” He cocks his head to one side. “What do you think?”

He hesitates before responding, “For what, sir?”

Jim clucks his tongue disapprovingly,“For your tag. I’m not going to collar you, but I think you need a marker. Now,” he reaches for the bedside table and pulls a long knife from the drawer. He lifts the blade and inspects carefully. “Over your heart?”

Sebastian barely hesitates a moment before he nods his head in agreement. The tip of the knife is pressed to his skin, sliding in a slow horizontal line barely an inch in length. He strains against the cuffs, head pressed back against the pillow, breath coming in a sharp hiss through his teeth as the knife slices through his skin.

The knife is pulled away for only a moment, when Jim licks the tip clean before returning for a second cut. A longer line starting in the center of the first, sweeping down into a curve. He sits back to admire the neat ‘J’ and leans down to drag his tongue across the lines welling up with blood, his eyes not leaving Sebastian’s face as he does.

Sebastian refuses to meet his eyes, looking anywhere else that he possibly can. He doesn’t avoid Jim’s eyes out of fear, but because he’s fairly certain he might just come right here and now if he watches the way Jim’s face lights up with sadistic pleasure. It’s so _wrong_ and that’s what makes it so _good_.

Jim lets out a huff of frustration at the apparent lack of attention from Sebastian and makes the next four marks quickly and roughly, scratching out a jagged ‘M’ next to the first letter. Sebastian is whimpering and writhing underneath him, eyes closed now, still refusing to look at him.

He snarls and swings the knife suddenly, catching Sebastian hard across the side of the face, “Look at me when I’m punishing you!”

Sebastian’s eyes snap open and he can’t stop the sharp cry as he feels the skin across his cheek split, a long gash from his cheekbone down to his jaw.

“S-sorry, sir.” He manages to gasp out, chest heaving as he struggles to pull in air. He forces his eyes to meet Jim’s and his expression is so violent yet so _petulant,_ like a child who doesn’t want to share his toys. Jim wrinkles his nose slightly and tosses the knife to the floor.

He leans forward and grips Sebastian’s chin tightly, turning his face so he can look at the cut. He flicks his tongue lightly over it and Sebastian shudders under him, “That was cruel of me.” He says softly against the skin, and it almost sounds like an apology but Sebastian knows better than to expect that out of his boss. Jim doesn’t apologize for anything. He just takes what he wants and he knows Sebastian will let him have it every time.

The moment passes and Jim is sliding off of him again, and once more his wrist is freed only long enough for him to turn back over onto his stomach. Jim’s body is pressed against his back and his lips are at Sebastian’s neck, biting hard enough that the skin threatens to break under the pressure. Sebastian lets out a low groan and tilts his head, giving all of his neck to Jim, completely submissive in the act.

“I love the way you move under me,” Jim says, “did I ever tell you that?” He presses his lips to the back of Sebastian’s neck and starts to lick his way down the older man’s spine, “The way your muscles shift under your skin while I’m fucking you, the way you push back against me, needy and desperate, it’s rather lovely sometimes.”

Sebastian lets out a low whine and pushes back, prompting a low chuckle from Jim, “Such a good boy,” He nips lightly at the skin below one shoulder blade. “But what I enjoy the most is the way you hurt for me.” Lightening quick, Jim’s arms snake around Sebastian’s torso, the fingers of one hand pressing hard into the letters carved into his chest, while the others dug into the knife wound on his side. Sebastian cries out, pushing desperately against Jim’s hands, wanting, _needing_ the pain. The pain is Jim’s mark of ownership, Jim’s twisted way of showing affection and Sebastian craves every moment of it.

Somehow while Sebastian is lost in a haze of pain tinged with lust, Jim has done away with his pyjamas and is pressing back against him, hard cock pushing into him, stretching him, filling him, and god, it’s _good._ Sebastian’s fingers tighten against the headboard, the knuckles of his hands turning white with the force. Jim isn’t moving, just buried deep inside of him while his tongue traces intricate patterns across the old scars marring Sebastian’s skin.

He wiggles a bit and rocks himself back against Jim again, only to get Jim’s palm hard against his arse for his trouble, “Not yet.” Jim tells him, but that just makes him want to do it again, makes Jim strike him again.

Jim’s hands slide along Sebastian’s side, fingers pressing and teasing across the whip marks, and slide up his arms. His hands cover Sebastian’s on the headboard and he squeezes lightly as he leans forward over Sebastian’s shoulder to nuzzle against the side of his face.

“The noises you make are delightful, 'Bastian,” He says, “Let me hear you,” Jim bucks his hips hard and grins into Sebastian’s skin at the sound he tears from the man, “So _pretty,_ ” He bites sharply at Sebastian’s ear lobe, “But I want you to be louder,” He drags his tongue around the shell of Sebastian’s ear. Let me hear you.” Jim’s hips roll forward, slow and strong, pulling almost entirely free from Sebastian before burying himself again completely.

Sebastian twists his head to one side, seeking contact from Jim as he moans out his boss’s name, low and hungry, desperately seeking more. “Jim….Jim, fuck, _please._ ”

Jim’s pace quickens, panting against Sebastian’s neck, hands tightening almost painfully over his, “Please what?”

“Harder. Please, harder. I need, fuck… _more. Please._

“Well if you’re asking so nicely,” Jim bites down roughly on Sebastian’s neck, the skin breaking beneath his teeth as his hips slam forward, pounding into him, hard and fast. One hand releases Sebastian’s and wraps around his torso, seeking out the bleeding letters and pressing his nails into them, snarling, “ _Mine._ ”

Beneath him, Sebastian is a whimpering, writhing mess, barely able to gasp out, “Yes, yours, only yours, more, _Jim._ ”

The hand slips from his chest and wraps around Sebastian’s painfully hard cock and he can barely breathe, everything just feels too good, too right, too perfect. Jim is the only thing he’s aware of, touching him, wrapped around him, _in_ him, and it’s almost too much to handle.

He can feel Jim’s movements becoming jerkier and knows that he’s just as close to falling apart. He twists his head to see Jim’s face, but then Jim is _kissing_ him, licking his teeth and stroking his tongue  and it’s too much, he’s coming undone completely, groaning his boss’s name into the man’s mouth as he orgasms into his fist.

He feels like he might pass out and then he can feel Jim shaking over him, letting out a half-strangled, wordless cry as he comes, buried deep inside of Sebastian’s body. Sebastian thinks it might be the best thing he’s ever felt.

Sebastian sags against his cuffs, panting into the pillows while his body attempts to recover from the bone-shaking orgasm he just experienced. Jim is a very nearly dead weight against his back and he can feel the smaller man’s body still trembling. Jim manages to come back just enough to reach up and free Sebastian’s hands before going limp once again.

They lay in a pile of sweaty, tangled limbs for several long minutes of bliss before Jim stars to shift again. He slides off of Sebastian’s back and rearranges their bodies until he’s satisfied with Sebastian flat on his back and Jim draped across him like a personal blanket, heedless of the still bleeding cuts.

He lets out a sigh of something that anyone else might call contentment, “I hate when you misbehave, but I love punishing you,” Sebastian doesn’t say anything, just wraps one arm around Jim and strokes his hand along the damp skin of Jim’s back, “Eventually, though, I’ll teach you not to let anyone else hurt you.”

Sebastian lets out a low huff, “I told you I didn’t let-“

“ _Stop lying to m--_ ”

It takes only a split second, but Sebastian has flipped them over and Jim is pinned flat to the bed, Sebastian’s knees holding his arms down. One large hand is wrapped around Jim’s throat, the thumb pressing threateningly against the hollow of his neck. Jim’s eyes widen fractionally and he lifts his chin, staring Sebastian down, nearly daring him to do something.

“Make no mistake, sir. I do let _you_ hurt me. You could hire someone to bring me down, but we both know I’m the best of your lot. I could take any of them out without pause from half a mile away, just as easily as I could break your neck right now.” He squeezes his hand, but Jim doesn’t reply. He leans in close to Jim’s face, “But I like what you do to me, I _love_ it,” He doesn’t have to say what he really means by that, “And I let you hurt me. I don’t let anyone else do that. Accidents happen, but you’re the only one allowed that right. This is only. For. You.”

He doesn’t give himself the time to hesitate before he presses his lips hard against Jim’s. He doesn’t usually do this; he lets Jim start everything, but he _needs_ to tell him, show him. Jim  is squirming under him but Sebastian presses harder still, not letting up, forcing his tongue between Jim’s lips.

Jim manages to get his arms free before Sebastian can stop him, but doesn’t push him away like Sebastian expects. Instead, his hands are tangled into Sebastian’s hair and pulling him closer, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, drinking him in like a man lost in the desert.

Sebastian finally pulls back and Jim is panting against his lips, still holding him close. “I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

“I know.”

“I can control how much I hurt you, but I can’t control everyone else.”

“I know.”

“What do I do if someone hurts you too much? Enough that you don’t come back to me?”

“I’m always going to come back to you.”

“You can’t promise that.”            

Sebastian moves off of Jim and rolls over onto his back, pulling Jim back into place across his chest, “I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me. This won’t be any different.”                

Jim lay his head down and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, “Just know that if you ever don’t come back, I’m going to find your corpse and I’m going to desecrate it. “

“I’d expect nothing less, sir”


End file.
